


Sword and Serpent

by ninchannie



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Theatre, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Creampie, Dancing, Dirty Talk, Dongju is a tease, Flirting, Gay Awakening, Geonhak is panicked, M/M, Making Out, Massage, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Pet Names, Rimming, Sensitive Nipples, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Spit As Lube, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninchannie/pseuds/ninchannie
Summary: “I think I want to kiss you.”There’s a short silence and then an increase in nerves and heartbeats when he can physically feel Dongju coming closer. He can taste the cinnamon, woody warmth of his own shower gel, the peppermint of the toothpaste they share, before their lips even touch.When they finally do, it’s with a soft, featherlight pressure. Dongju is passionate with everything he does, with how he speaks and laughs and dances. But this? It’s careful. As if the younger is just as scared of it as Geonhak feels.OrDongju and Geonhak are the main leads in a play. There’s a sex scene in it, and they get so lost in the moment that they end up actually sleeping with each other on stage. The audience thinks they’re just acting, and the reviews compliment them for their realistic take on sex.
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Son Dongju | Xion
Comments: 30
Kudos: 129
Collections: WEUS Harvest Moon Fest





	Sword and Serpent

**Author's Note:**

> This is my interpretation of prompt #121 for WeUs fest:
> 
> NSFW dongju and geonhak as the main leads in a play. There's a sex scene in the play, and they get so into the moment that they end up going off the script, and talk dirty to each other, before having real sex on the stage. The audience all think they’re just acting, and the reviews commend them for their realistic take on sex.
> 
> I hope you’ll enjoy this piece, it was very interesting to write and something new for me! 
> 
> The piece Geonhak sees in France is inspired by “Crowd” from Gisèle Vienne, that quite honestly changed my whole perception of play and theatre. That’s just a nerd fact, no need to know it or anything since it’s really just a little easter egg :3
> 
> Warnings:  
> Since the audience doesn’t know Dongju and Geonhak are having actual real sex on stage, they are involuntary bystanders and thus this work includes non-consensual voyeurism. Even though they still enjoy it, it’s a non-negotiated exposure to adultery, so if this makes you uncomfy, this one is not for you!

There’s never a play that’s quite the same as another one. No matter if it’s by the same director, even with the same actors, the theatre and the stage abide by their own rules. They demand sacrifice and worship, the sweat and tears of their inhabitants and the roaring excitement of the audience. Theatre, it demands. It pulls and takes. It’s a drug. It’s even more than a drug.

The first time Dongju got a taste of the chilly magic of the stage, was during elementary school, when he played a tree. He didn’t have lines, only wore a silly costume, but his heart ached for the whole time he stood in front of parents, siblings and teachers. Something was put inside of him that day, a passion right into his chest. He never left the stage afterwards. He didn’t think he could ever want to leave.

But over the years, stupid little plays turned into stupid bigger plays. From playing the tree, he turned to playing Peter Pan, Romeo, Oberon. He turned from having no lines, to having the most lines and then, when he somehow managed to graduate from high school next to touring through the country, he turned to the ones without lines, without a real script even. Those with just bodies, movements, expressions, making the audience experience ecstasy by only seeing withering flesh and ignited skin.

When before, theatre was a drug for Dongju, these plays became his nectar and ambrosia. And he became a centrepiece in the scene. For three years, he played on more stages he can even remember, visited more countries than his whole family ever has. He became an integral link to the network of experimental and or absolutely mad directors of performance art and dancing plays.

He lived on the stage, for the stage. And it filled him up, tore him down anew every single evening until at twenty-one, Dongju was tearing at the very seams and it seemed like his body was giving up on a lifestyle with no place to call home, no friends to call permanent.

Dongju’s last piece broke him down. Completely and utterly, from his muscles to his skin, to the frail softness of his brain. It was the most challenging thing he ever had to act in, dance in. To give his whole existence for every single night.

The euphoric horrors of taking those stages, the blinding pleasure followed by a violent drop into the darkest recesses of his mind. It made him feel punched and beaten, a bruised body and ripping string of sanity. It all lay bare and open to see, on a sweaty stage alongside over a dozen of other actors, dancers, fighters. Dongju didn’t really know anymore.

The piece was a rave, an ode to parties and quick fixes, to living young and dying younger, to giving and taking everything and everyone. The light instalment for it gave Dongju migraines, the music ruined his ears and he _lived_. The actors danced, they cried, and they lived.

Dongju never felt more alive before, than during his time acting for that play. Simultaneously, he never felt more dreadful, than after getting off stage each evening. No matter if laughing or breaking down, every evening was spent with the other members of the crew. They danced, even with sore muscles and no audience to see. They drank and talked. They fucked and they became closer than Dongju ever thought was possible.

He had his first time with a man after the final performance, somewhere in France, Dongju doesn’t even remember where, or what season it was. Because as much as that live filled him with everything he thought he could ever need, it demanded. And for the first time, it demanded too much of him. 

Returning to Korea, to living in his childhood home felt alien and strange. During the years he spent travelling, constantly evolving, it seemed like the world off-stage didn’t change one bit. He never talked to any of the other actors again, he refused calls and offers, despite his family’s disappointed expressions.

What he needed, was a break. Of dancing and being out there to see. Of acting and not being himself. Or not being so much of himself, that he didn’t think anyone would ever accept the real him. He needed time to heal, to learn how to live _normally_ again.

And for over half a year, he managed to do that. But the stage demands, and it certainly doesn’t let go easily. With an itch left under his skin, Dongju is forbidden from enjoying his time apart from its horrors and happiness. A single letter asking him to lead a play, from one of the most controversial directors in the scene, is all it takes to pull him back.

-

Studying economics was never something Geonhak wanted to do. He doubts it’s really something anyone freely got themselves into, without some kind of outside influence. Stable jobs, a decent income in sight, a pressuring family. Those are the reasons you study something as bland as economics. There’s no passion in it and even if interest is there, it gets ripped from your grasp within the first year, if you’re lucky during the second.

Geonhak also goes to church each Sunday, and he thinks it’s a similar matter with that. Does he believe in some kind of cosmic force giving purpose and drive to every living being? Sure. But sitting through the same old speech once a week also killed every last ounce of passion for that, even in the most eager believers.

He studied economics, went to church every Sunday with his family. Geonhak did his exercises and visited his family for dinner twice a week, sitting two hours on a train and bus each way to get there from his ratty dorm. His life, he supposes, was never anything out of the ordinary.

There were dreams of course, thought of in the seconds before falling asleep every night, laughed at when he’s drinking away the evenings after exams. About being something more, something bigger. About living so much, that Geonhak can feel it in his fingertips and reverberate even to his bones. Maybe through a lover, he hoped, a strike of fate.

But fate almost never listens to what the people want or what they dream of, and in the few cases it does, it’s with winks and laughter. It changes a person’s course completely and maybe it ruins them on the way. Geonhak would accept that without the blink of an eye, but he doesn’t realize that.

He doesn’t realize how desperate he truly is for change, until he goes on a vacation to Europe with his parents. It comes as a surprise, on silent feet and with even quieter whispers, on their last evening, when all attractions have been seen, all things to do have been done.

Going to a play on a short notice was something so utterly unlike him, unlike his family, it felt new and exciting just for that. But when it started, and there were no actors in the sense that Geonhak always thought of them, no costumes and no cringy script to follow, it became a source of adrenaline in his blood, a painful heartbeat in his chest.

His father left the play early, shaking his head on the way out, holding his ears to the thumping music of nineties rave EDM. His mother looked at him wide-eyed when there would be dancing, touching, gazes so intimate they shouldn’t happen in front of a crowd. Geonhak didn’t return her gaze once.

The play captivated him to a point where tears gathered on his lashes, where he felt his fingers twitch with the movements of the dancers. There was sex and violence and addiction, packaged so delicately raw that Geonhak didn’t even understand most of what was happening, his head trapped in whiplash and wonder.

That night, he found something out about himself, something that had been in deep slumber and he never expected to see so openly. For all of his very ordinary circumstances, Geonhak’s insides screamed from something different.

Coming back to Korea felt almost senseless and dumb. The familiar trot of his daily life was close to comical, _boring_ , which he never accepted as an adjective to describe his life. He’s in his last semester when he joins dance courses at his university, by far the oldest one, the least graceful one, but it’s a start to something. He doesn’t know exactly for what, but he knows it’s just what he needed.

Give it half a year, and Geonhak is sitting on a train he never thought he would take, just having submitted his thesis and now on his way to an _audition_. An audition for a play that he found by scouring through pages upon pages of actors and directors, one way or another connected to the play he saw in France.

It’s a complete shot in the dark to go there, the audition announcement asking for experienced dancers, actors. For personalities. It’s in small letters that it says _newbies welcome_ in English, the only thing giving Geonhak the courage to truly pull through. 

Add another eight weeks and he is ushered into the grimy backstage room of a dingy theatre in Busan. He’s carrying a duffle bag and backpack, holding all clothes and belongings he could take with him. It’s against his parent’s will, of course it is, and he paid his last coins to get there.

There’s a second where regret comes up sour and hot in the back of his throat at the sight of so many people, so many _experienced_ people. They look effortless in the way they talk and stand, smiling with a confidence Geonhak doesn’t think he ever harboured after the age of two years.

The director is talking animatedly to the other actors, Geonhak recognizes her from the audition, and he wishes he would’ve just turned around and _ran_ , instead of dropping his bags loud enough to make her head turn into his direction.

The thing she does, as if it’s so obvious and easy, is smile at him. She smiles with glinting eyes, as if Geonhak is something so much more than he feels like he is, sticking out like a sore thumb under the amount of experienced talent around him.

“Geonhak,” she says in that way English speakers pronounce his name. He’s baffled she can even remember without having to look at a list, not having expected to be important enough to need a name to be called backstage.

His voice stutters when he breathes out a hello, hoping to not sound as scared as he feels and failing miserably. She’s walking towards him now, multiple pairs of eyes following her and ultimately landing on him which shouldn’t be this palpable, right? How is he supposed to stand on a stage when the gazes of a handful of actors is making Geonhak feel this lightheaded already.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, a soft graze and when he looks down, the director is smiling at him again, not as wide and just a tad more comforting. “We’re all very nice here, I promise, and you’ll get to know everyone very closely over the coming weeks and months,” she says, before flicking through a messy folder in her hands.

“I-I’m a bit nervous to be honest,” Geonhak says, not sure if he should talk louder so everyone can hear, or if this is something only the director should know. He’s glad he took those extra English classes during his first semesters, feeling at least somewhat stable talking in the foreign language. “This is my first play and I’m not sure what to expect.”

“We’re very easy-going in these circles,” the director promises, turning to the actors. “I’ve only worked with a few of the people here before, and while I think you’re the only complete newbie, I bet everyone will gladly help you get acquainted with how things roll.”

Geonhak nods, wide-eyed and with his lips parted and he _bows_ as he thanks her. He immediately feels shame on his back when he stands up, a blush on his cheeks because he really didn’t need to do that, absolutely not, and it’s written in the director’s face of amused shock.

Thankfully she spares him the embarrassment of telling him off, or worse even, laughing at him, which Geonhak’s mind tells him are very valid things to worry about. They’re not, of course they’re not, but habits are never left behind easily.

“Everyone, gather around please,” she says then, louder and in that voice that screams authority and confidence. Geonhak dreams to come close to that one day. “Youngjo, our lovely writer, scribbled down some easy drafts for everyone. Those of you who worked with me before know that I like to take things easy in the beginning, so I’d just ask you through read over these now and then I’ll tackle some questions.”

She flicks through a messy folder and gets out stacks of paper, different sizes and colours, seemingly written on at random. “As you all know this is a play about the hardships of getting together, of all kinds. We want to show the realism of losing your mind, of surrendering and breaking under the premise of love. Text is held to a minimum and we have awesome musicians and stage designers working with us.”

She pulls out stacks of paper here and there, names scribbled at the top and hands them out to people, grouping them together in what seem to be pairs, sometimes triples. “This will be a work in progress the whole way through and Youngjo and I are very open to switch things around if you’re not comfortable with something.”

As if on cue, she turns to Geonhak then, holding out what seems to be music paper with messy hangul written all over it. “You’re planned to play Sword, one of the main characters if you will,” she says to him before turning around again, as if searching for someone. “Dongju, could you come over here,” she calls out for someone and when Geonhak’s eyes fall on him, his breath catches.

He’s a pretty young man, with features so delicate in some places, so prominent in others, it feels like Geonhak is looking at some kind of ethereal being that will burn his retinas if he stares too long. The person could easily be an idol, a model, or an actor for a drama even, and distinctly his face rings a memory in Geonhak, that he can’t quite place.

“Geonhak, this is Dongju,” she introduces and the smile Dongju sends Geonhak is filled with intrigue and interest. It makes the other shiver and his skin feel prickly. “You two will play the namesakes for the piece, Sword and Serpent. I know this is still new territory for you Geonhak, but Dongju is very experienced and I bet he will gladly assist you with anything,” the director hands a script to Dongju. “I’ll leave you two to it then.”

Geonhak’s mind is running miles an hour trying to discern what his brain is trying to associate with Dongju. He _has_ to have seen him before, maybe on the big screen or maybe even in his personal life, he’s not quite sure.

“This is really your first play?” Dongju asks in Korean, finally something Geonhak seems more secure in, but he isn’t using honorifics, isn’t particularly polite even, and it pulls the rug out right from under Geonhak’s feet again.

“ _Uh_ , I-“, he stutters trying to sort out his thoughts. “Yeah it’s my first. Is that something bad?”

Dongju eyes him up and down a few times, as if he’s checking out an object he’s about to buy. He smiles then and something in Geonhak breaks and pierces right through his lungs. “No, not at all. You must be very promising if you got in as a complete newbie.”

“P-promising, yeah?” And god, Geonhak wishes he could sound a little more like that and not like a complete moron instead. But Dongju just grins and motions over to some chairs that are put up against the dirty wall.

“Yes, promising,” he says as he guides them over, raising a single brow at Geonhak which makes him nearly drop his bags. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve got.”

The words make a heat rise in Geonhak’s cheeks that he tries to hide by putting down his bags and rummaging through them for a few seconds before sitting down where Dongju is patting the chair next to him.

“Let’s go through the script alone first and then we can talk about it, okay?” Dongju asks when he sits down and Geonhak nods almost eagerly, wanting an out of this strange situation that makes him flustered for absolutely no reason.

There’s mumbling in the room, from the other pairings as they all read through what Youngjo supplied them. Geonhak has some trouble at first, to concentrate on it all, but when he does it’s almost too easy to get lost in the simple scribbles of the writer.

It’s just some quick ideas written down, really, but Geonhak can see them unfold in his head, can already see some of the scenes, of fights and dance and passion. There are just a few lines he has, thank god, and most of them are in Korean. Only one is written down in English and it makes his heart stop and his eyes widen when he continues onward.

There’s a big bullet point under the English line he has to say, and it shocks him more than he’d like to admit:

_Sword and Serpent surrender to each other and let go of the limits they set for themselves. They have sex while the last unresolved issues are fought out at the front of the stage._

Gulping, Geonhak looks up only to find Dongju’s eyes already on him, sharp and clear, not at all wide and surprised like he feels his own look. He turns the page a few times, just to check that this is all, before sagging back into the chair.

“So we’re going to fuck, huh?” Dongju says jokingly, and Geonhak nearly falls off the chair. “I’m joking, you cutie. We’re just actors, right? It’s nothing weird.”

“Yeah, nothing weird at all, totally not,” Geonhak says calmly, or at least trying to sound calm. He doesn’t feel that way at all. It’s as if his raging inner virgin is making sirens go off inside of his head. He’s not even really a virgin, not that he cares much about that concept at all. He just never saw himself doing anything close to sexual with another man. “Just a sex scene, how tough can it be.”

-

One thing Geonhak learns quickly, is that apparently theatre people drink a lot. It doesn’t really matter what, but they drink _a lot_. The first thing he notices is the abnormal coffee intake that commences after everyone read through their scripts. Some people even brought their own coffee machines, and still it took nearly half an hour for everyone to get their first fill.

The second thing comes up when the first workday is done, and the director invites them all to go out for drinks. Not coffee this time, no, _real_ drinks. Geonhak sits in a bar at a Wednesday evening, a backpack and duffle bag stuffed under the bench and he’s drinking craft beer. He was too shy to mention to the director that he really isn’t the biggest fan of beer.

Dongju, who seems to have an all too easy time talking to everyone, no matter if in Korean, English, or even French, plops down next to him at some point, noticing his glass with barely a sip taken from it. “You don’t drink?” He asks with curious eyes and crowds closer to Geonhak to be able to understand him over the noise of the people around them.

“Oh, no, I definitely do,” he says, cringing at his own words after they spill out. “I’m just not the biggest fan of beer.”

At that, Dongju raises his brows. “Really? A buff, hunk of a man like you is not into the manifestation of manliness in alcohol form?”, It’s not a real question, just some joking banter, but Geonhak shyly shakes his head anyway. Dongju points at his own glass, a tall flute of some sort of pink cocktail. It even has fruit and Geonhak is just slightly jealous. “Want to swap? I don’t mind beer.”

Geonhak stutters over his tongue for a few seconds. “R-really? You don’t have to do tha-“

Before he can even finish, Dongju has already grabbed his glass and puts it to his mouth, locking eyes with Geonhak before tilting his head back to take swig after swig of the beverage. He downs it all in one go, making the other’s mouth fall open and revealing an expression perfectly fit for that of a lost puppy.

Chuckling, Dongju tells Geonhak that, after placing the glass down and pushing his cocktail over to Geonhak. “I’ve never seen a person that resembles a puppy as much as you do,” he says and Geonhak is glad his cheeks are already burning, so Dongju doesn’t see the new blush tint his cheek.

There’s some foam left on Dongju’s upper lip and Geonhak can’t help but follow the slither of tongue as he licks it away and it only makes it _worse_. That’s generally a good way to describe the other, Geonhak thinks, just the worst. Totally.

It’s something of an escape route to grab the glass and bring the bamboo straw to his lips, occupying his mind with the sweet taste of sugar mixed with sour fruit and a hint of bitterness from some kind of alcohol in there. It’s good, but Geonhak nearly doesn’t taste it over his mind replaying the movement of Dongju’s tongue over and over in his head.

The other is watching him in that completely unguarded fashion again, sending chills down Geonhak’s spine when he places the glass down. “Tell me,” Dongju begins, putting his elbows on the table and propping his face up with his hands as he crowds closer. “What is up with those bags you got with you.”

It takes Geonhak off-guard, having expected something flirty – because Dongju sure feels flirty – but instead getting something _normal_. “My parents kind of kicked me out when I told them I got accepted for the play, so I took everything I could with me.”

Dongju’s brows furrow. “Your parents? How old are you again?”

“I’m twenty-three.” There’s some shame sitting right under Geonhak’s belt, but he tries to ignore it. It’s normal to live at home until you find a job, and after he moved back home to write his thesis there was no way he could’ve afforded moving back out. He doesn’t _need_ to feel shame, but he does. “How about you?”

There’s a glint in Dongju’s eyes, a teasing smile on his lips. “I’m twenty-one and I rented an Airbnb out here for the time of rehearsals.” He quirks a brow, as if he’s hinting at something Geonhak should get. He doesn’t get it.

“Wow, that must be expensive,” he says before taking another swig of the cocktail, trying to avoid having to look directly at Dongju. He feels so flustered when their eyes meet, almost exposed without wanting to be. “Do you have a second job?”

“No,” Dongju laughs, bright and airy. “This is my job. I’m lucky enough to have saved up enough to even take a little break. This is my first play in half a year.”

It’s as if things fall into place then, like a puzzle piece in Geonhak’s head is slotting right in where it should. He thinks back on where he was all those months ago, out in Europe with his parents and only by chance did he find everything he didn’t know he was searching for.

It comes with a breath-taking clarity to him, why he had that nagging thought that he knew Dongju but couldn’t quite place from where. He saw him that fateful evening, from down in the crowd. He saw Dongju so intimately, shared it with hundreds of viewers, with his mother even, and somehow his brain picked out a single face and brought it back to the front of his head when they met earlier on this very day.

He doesn’t tell Dongju about it. There’s so much intimate secrecy to what Geonhak connects with that play, and he would bet it’s even more so for the other, who actually acted and danced in it. So instead, he says, “I hope it will be the right thing.” His voice is breathy, rough from the alcohol having run down his throat.

Dongju, with his eyes so awake, turns until he looks at the empty glass in front of him. “I hope so too, Geonhak,” he says, the words nearly whispered. Then he turns his head and his hair creates magical shadows over his eyes. “I hope so too.”

There’s silence, then noise, all sounds around him suddenly rushing into Geonhak’s ears at once. He opens his mouth and realizes that there’s nothing to say. That his tongue is too dry to conjure something like words. He looks at the table and swishes the straw around in the last icy remains of Dongju’s drink.

“You can stay with me if you don’t have a place for tonight.”

The tone Dongju uses is serious, earnest and open. His voice sounds deeper than before, sending a chill down right Geonhak’s spine. He’s too scared to look up at the other. “A-are you sure?”

There’s the sound of someone shuffling over on the cheap leather of a bench in a dingy bar, then a hot thigh pressing against his own. “I know how hard it is to start out,” Dongju says, and then fingers burn into Geonhak’s thigh too. “Especially with your parents not having your back right now, you deserve to get the opportunity to enjoy this experience to the fullest.”

Geonhak feels hot all over, in his cheeks, his chest, even at the tips of his ears. He has the weird urge to cover Dongju’s hand with his own, see the difference in size and feel his fingers tremble right against his skin. But of course he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t _want_ to do that with a guy… or does he?

His involuntary saviour comes in the form of Govoi, one of the other actors in the play, who yells, “Shots on me!” over every conversation at the table.

Geonhak swears he can feel Dongju’s eyes on him when he tilts his head back and takes the shot in one go, burning his throat on the way but it’s nothing he’s not used to. He tries not to do the same when Dongju drinks his, tries not to _stare_ at the way his throat contracts around the liquid. Not that he’d ever do something like that. And Geonhak certainly wouldn’t think about much worse things than an Adam’s apple bob because of a _shot_. Absolutely, definitely not.

-

The Airbnb is surprisingly small. Or maybe it shouldn’t be surprising, but it definitely is for Geonhak. There’s a double bed pushed into one corner, leaving enough space for two children or one normal sized man to walk between it and the kitchenette on the opposite wall. It’s like a hallway got converted into a makeshift apartment and Dongju tells Geonhak that that’s really exactly what it is. But it’s clean and a roof over his head, so he didn’t say no when he found it.

Geonhak also finds out, that he’s nearly too big for the shower, which happens sometimes in Korean showers, but he didn’t encounter that problem in years, not even at the uni dorms.

It is still a giant relief to have hot water run over his back, to wash the grime of travel and alcohol out of his hair. He uses his own shampoo, which interestingly is from the same brand Dongju uses, whose already sits on the small shelf in the shower. He wonders how it smells on the younger, if his own would come off different on someone else, if he could taste it under his-

No. Geonhak stops his thoughts right there. It’s been a while since he had a girlfriend and because he isn’t much of a player, that means it’s also been a while since he last had sex. His mind probably pushed any and all horny thoughts away when he lived at his parents’ place, to avoid awkward situations and that’s why it is jumping out now. That’s the only possible explanation. It _can’t_ be because of the attractive man in the other room.

Geonhak has to admit Dongju is handsome. _Everyone_ would have to admit it. There’s nothing gay about it, really, because the other is just wondrously beautiful and Geonhak thinks everyone can appreciate that kind of otherworldly beauty. And okay, maybe it’s because of his expressions too, his heavy gazes and sweet smiles. And maybe he _really_ has to think about some things.

As if fate is trying to make it worse, he realizes he forgot to take fresh clothes into the bathroom, as soon as he steps out of the shower. He could get into his pants and shirt from the day, but those are sweaty. And really, with a towel around his hips he isn’t doing anything creepy, right?

So, shy and slightly pink, Geonhak steps out of the bathroom followed by a waft of steam, the cold air of the other room making his skin feel tight and prickly. Dongju is laying on the bed, hugging a pillow to his chest and scrolling through his phone. His hair is still wet from his own shower and he glances up at Geonhak for only a moment.

At least that’s all Geonhak sees, because he quickly turns around to walk to his bag and get out some clothes, before nearly sprinting back into the bathroom. The knot of his towel just holds together for enough time until he can slam the door closed behind him and he just _hopes_ Dongju’s attention was on his phone again, instead of on his embarrassed ass.

The mirror shows Geonhak pink and splotchy flushed even down to his chest, the strange blueish purple light of the small light source on the ceiling doing nothing to make him look any less humiliated than he feels.

It’s just his first day and he already managed to seem pitiful enough for a fellow actor to invite him to spend the night at his place. Not only that, he also managed to forget as important a thing as clothes to get into after a shower, so he had to violate the poor guy’s eyes. And only to make matters worse, it’s that exact person he’s supposed to play a _sex_ scene with in just about three months.

Would someone have told Geonhak the summer before, that just a year down the road he would play in a performing piece and get ready to act out a relationship with another _man_ , he would’ve kindly flipped them the bird and then laughed about it with his friends from uni.

Now that such an unthinkable thing is actually happening, Geonhak finds that he can’t even see a possible alternative to it. All those friends he got to know at uni are now beginning to waste some of the best years of their lives away in companies that will treat them like lesser humans for a good few years before they can even start to accomplish things. At least he is _out_ here and experiencing things he never expected to desire this much.

He looks at himself in the mirror, at his splotchy blush and his familiar face that shows an expression he isn’t all too used to. It’s excitement, open and vulnerable. It reminds him of how children look when they see something fun for the first time or when they open their gifts on holidays.

Geonhak feels _young_ again. He _is_ young, but after tiring years spent in classes with hundreds of students around him, even those young years became somewhat stagnant. He expected to feel even older when he finally finished uni, never that a simple thing like deciding to switch up the direction of his hobbies would give him back something he thought he’d lost years ago.

All that shame from being the new one, the awkward inexperienced one, the one who got kicked out and travelled there without a penny to his name. The one that runs out of the bathroom half naked because he forgot his clothes. All that shame is gone when his lips split open in a smile.

After shuffling into comfortable clothes and readying himself for the night, he even steps out of the bathroom with a smile.

Dongju’s eyes are on him the second the door opens, awake and so clear, like they always seem to be. A hint of disappointment washes over his face when he rakes his eyes up Geonhak’s clothed form, but when they fall on his face, he mirrors his smile just as bright.

Geonhak freezes in front of the door, his hand on the light switch of the bathroom. “Do you,” he begins, his throat suddenly feeling very dry. “Are you done in the bathroom?” He can feel how his fingers begin to tremble over the switch when Dongju licks his lips instead of answering.

“Yeah, I’m finished,” he says after a moment passes and Geonhak lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He flicks the light out and realizes with a scary suddenness, how dim the room is, only lit up by the small lamp above the headboard of the bed. Dongju is sitting right in its halo, as if the light is going out from him and Geonhak nearly forgets to close his mouth.

“You okay there?” Dongju asks, his voice more unsure than Geonhak ever heard it before. His heart starts to pick up a heavy beat when the younger sits up and shuffles over the mattress to sit at the edge of the bed.

There’s not much space between the bed and the door to the bathroom and that means that there’s not much space at all between Dongju and Geonhak. The younger looks up at him and spreads his legs, nearly bumping knees with the other, as he places his hands between his thighs.

“I-I… _uhh_ ,” Geonhak stammers, trying to think of a coherent answer to Dongju’s question. Is he okay? He thinks so, especially after his revelation in the mirror, realizing just how happy he is to be right here in this moment. Is he okay seeing the other ignited by the only source of light in the room, like some kind of ethereal being? Now to that, Geonhak isn’t sure if he knows an answer.

Dongju smiles up at him, gently at first, but it quickly turns to something sharper. Something that pulls at Geonhak’s heartstrings like not many things did before. “I’m kind of disappointed you’re wearing a shirt now…”

It’s not at all something Geonhak expected to hear that night, or any night, really. Certainly not from a man he spontaneously shares a room with. A part of him thinks he should be appalled from such blatant flirting from someone he isn’t interested in – he thinks he’s not interested at least, but Dongju already changed a lot of things in Geonhak’s mind over the short time they have known each other.

The scary thing is, that a much bigger part of him doesn’t mind it. His neck tingles with the shy proud feeling that comes when someone finds him attractive, and his abdominal muscles clench when Dongju cocks his head and blinks up at him through long, beautiful lashes.

“I was scared you’d be mad at me running out here shirtless,” he says, a breathy quality to his voice.

Dongju crunches his nose up cutely and shakes his head. “Mad? At a handsome, freshly showered guy walking past me in my incredibly spacious Airbnb? Certainly not.” His voice is thick with an enticing power Geonhak is sure he possesses none of and it makes his stomach feel tight.

He chuckles somewhat awkwardly. “I thought you might find me creepy.”

Dongju snorts down a laugh, adorably dorky and unfitting to the way his voice was sickly seductive just a minute before. Geonhak’s heart skips a beat. “Please, puppy, you’re anything but creepy,” the younger says, reaching his arm out to rest a hand on Geonhak’s hip. It feels like his touch is searing through the layer of fabric and accompanied with the pet name it stirs something in the older, that he never felt before. “You’re very beautiful, Geonhak.”

There’s still no honorific, Dongju didn’t use them once that day, even after finding out he’s younger than Geonhak. It hits something in the older right on, that he talks to him like that. As if there are no boundaries existent in their acquaintance. He likes it.

He likes that, and he likes the way Dongju looks up at him. The way his toes are pushing against Geonhak’s in a polite surprise attack. The way his fingers feel on his hip, god, a part of Geonhak wants to feel it on his bare skin so badly. But there’s still that other part of him that keeps telling him that this isn’t really what he wants, right? Certainly not after knowing Dongju for less than a day.

So, clumsy as ever, Geonhak blurts out, “I think I’m straight.”

The first thing that happens, is Dongju’s brows shooting up to his hairline. The second is his lips forming a perfectly round ‘o’. Then he pulls his feet back and drops his hand and Geonhak feels a sudden coldness wash over him. “Well shit man, I’m sorry,” the younger says awkwardly. “I… oh god, I thought the whole towel thing was something flirty and then you didn’t seem put off by me just now so I-“

“No, shit- sorry, please don’t apologize,” Geonhak interrupts him and now there’s embarrassment making his skin crawl. “I think I… got to sort some things out. With myself.”

Dongju nods. He shuffles back on the bed and he keeps nodding. He hands Geonhak a pillow and the fluffier of the two comforters and he’s still nodding. He only stops when he gets up on his knees to grab a spare blanket from the shelf hung at the wall next to the bed and throws it at Geonhak, who’s now making himself a place to sleep on the floor.

They didn’t really talk about this yet and Geonhak feels weirdly disappointed by it, but it’s of course the only thing that makes sense. They’re virtually strangers, of course Dongju wouldn’t want to sleep in the same bed as a stranger. Or maybe Geonhak managed to make him uncomfortable by stupidly talking without a brain to mouth filter. He’s really doing his worst on the first day already.

There’s silence after he finishes setting up camp, uncomfortable and incredibly awkward silence, until finally, Dongju saves them and breaks it. “Well, if you ever have questions or… I don’t know, need an opinion, you can always talk to me,” he says, and his voice is so soft, Geonhak is glad he can’t see his face, or he thinks he might melt. “I’m a bisexual guy, I’ve been with all kinds of people and yeah... we’re going to play a gay couple on stage, so I hope we can be open and talk things out.”

Geonhak hums and pulls the cover over his head. He knows Dongju probably can’t see him from the bed, but there’s a need to hide away pulling at his body, to make himself as small as possible. “Thank you,” he says quietly, after the light is switched out. “I think this is the realest someone has been with me in a long time.”

-

Geonhak doesn’t just stay with Dongju for one night. He stays for two, three, even after he gets his first small paycheck and could afford a ratty motel until the next. The director offers to pay for his stay, but something inside of him _screams_ to politely decline it. And if Dongju’s satisfied grin is anything to go by, he is glad too.

The living situation isn’t ideal, but it works surprisingly well.

For the first week, Geonhak sleeps on the comforter in the space between the bed and the kitchenette. It’s not too uncomfortable, but it’s certainly not a good sleep he gets there, and he realizes the toll it’s truly taking on his body, when they begin to train for the performances they’re going to do on stage.

No amount of dance classes could’ve prepared him for those. Okay, maybe his body is ready in the way he isn’t completely dead after the first training, just super exhausted, but otherwise he has a very hard time grasping some of the moves, the interpersonal connections to the other actors, the fact that he still has to _act_ and keep his expressions in check even when it feels like his shoulder will pop out of its socket any second. 

One thing that keeps him going without feeling like he’s slowly crumbling apart, is the energy of the other actors, the director and the writer who he meets on the second day. They’re all so bright and floaty, Geonhak has no other word for it. There’s support coming from all sides, laughter and chatter in breaks, tips and tricks and so many stories told on the evenings in the bar they decided to be their lair for the production.

The other thing is, unsurprisingly so, Dongju.

The first time Geonhak sees him dance, he’s sat near the door in the mirrored room they booked for dance rehearsals, stretching for the first practice. Dongju is wearing those ridiculously short shorts and a brightly coloured button up that doesn’t scream dance-practice in the slightest, but rather avid disco-goer in the 80s.

He’s just laughing with two actresses before he spontaneously twirls around himself and dances through the room in a circle, before coming back to them. It’s nothing gracious or outstanding, it’s a silly thing making sense in a conversation Geonhak isn’t apart of and still, his jaw drops, and he can’t take his eyes off of him.

It’s surely a great distraction from his nerves, but over the week it also becomes a distraction from effectively learning the choreographies and Geonhak feels like he stands out like a sore thumb. Everyone tells him that he’s doing great, that it takes time to get into the groove of things – not his wording – but he feels like it’s so obvious that he has less experience, both with dancing and with those thoughts that come sneaking into his mind whenever he looks at Dongju.

It’s hard, and not getting the greatest sleep doesn’t really help. 

That’s why, on the eighth day of them living together in the tiny Airbnb, Dongju says something during breakfast, that makes Geonhak choke on his cereal. “We should share the bed from now on,” is what he says. “It’s not good for you to sleep on the floor when we have to dance this much… plus, it’s a double bed for a reason.”

_It’s a double bed for a reason_ are the words that replay in Geonhak’s head, over and over. Dongju is right, of course. The bed is probably the most spacious thing in the whole place and it certainly looks a lot more comfortable than the floor.

So, after coughing away the cereal in his throat and downing his glass of water in one go, he says something he wouldn’t have been brave enough to do just a week earlier. “Okay, if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“As long as you keep your hands to yourself and don’t steal my blanket I won’t be,” Dongju says and his smile is happy, earnestly happy, and not the snarky thing he puts on in front of the other actors. Geonhak feels lucky to be the recipient of that smile. “If you pull my blanket off of me, I’ll kick you in the balls hard enough that your stupidly deep voice will reach Mariah Carey heights, understood?”

Wide-eyed, Geonhak nods quickly, not very keen on ever experiencing that threat. He takes another spoon of his cereal, before swallowing his nerves with it. “So you think my voice is stupid?” He asks with a fake pout.

Dongju rolls his eyes hard enough he fears he might’ve pulled an eye-muscle – if you can pull one of those. “I said your voice is stupidly deep, not that it’s stupid,” he clarifies and looks at Geonhak with glinting eyes. “It’s a very good voice… for acting and all that.” The last part is added hastily, as if to make the statement before less impactful.

It’s a dumb thing to be flustered about a compliment for his voice, a thing that has so little to do with his own hard work, but Geonhak blushes either way and tries to sneakily hide behind his hand. “Th-thank you,” he mutters and he’s glad they have to leave for practice in a bit, so he can at least escape the one-on-one situation. 

Grinning, Dongju raises a single brow at him. “You’re cute when you’re shy, puppy,” he says and god, Geonhak really doubts he will survive having to sleep in the same bed as the other.

-

Things start to get even _worse_ around the halfway point of production. They’ve got it all pretty much set now, from stage design to lighting to costumes. Youngjo finishes the final scripts and things really start to feel _real_ then, inevitable even, and it fills Geonhak with a confusing mix of excitement and nervousness.

The actual bad thing is whatever is going on with him and Dongju.

Geonhak doesn’t know what it _is_ they have going on, but he knows that it was a steady build-up, nearly unnoticeable, until it was too late. He doesn’t dislike it either, he feels comfortable with the younger and he finds that talking openly to him is easier than it has ever been with someone else.

But still, sleeping together in a double bed is one thing. It’s surprisingly not as bad as Geonhak expected, Dongju is a quiet sleeper and he keeps to his side, not once did he kick the older or do anything that would’ve made things awkward.

It’s when one morning, Geonhak wakes up with the words, “I’ll go for a run, puppy, see you at rehearsals,” whispered into his ear, that he realizes things have started to change. The pet name has become more used than his real name and he certainly doesn’t mind the flutters it creates in his tummy. In turn he even began to call Dongju ‘baby’, just to see him blush a bit too.

But that morning he can’t for the life of him find the shirt he picked out for the day the evening before. It’s one from uni, with his name on the back and just lose enough to be perfect for dancing. He ponders about its whereabouts on the way to the studio and can’t let it go until he walks in. He thinks the stress must’ve gone to his head, until he sees Dongju.

Because Dongju is _wearing his shirt_. It’s big on his frame, more so than Geonhak expected it to be, not that he thought about that or anything. Okay, maybe he did on some evenings, when Dongju was still at the bar and he decided to go home and tend to his bruised body. Those evenings when all he could think of was soft, brown hair, prominent lips and those truthful eyes as he wrapped a hand around himself.

Seeing it in real life is a thing so different to the pictures his imagination conjured, it makes Geonhak’s heart hammer in his chest. And, as if to make it worse, Dongju bends down to straighten his socks and when he comes back up the shirt just happens to perfectly slip off of his bony shoulder. Geonhak’s very own name is written askew on his back, visible in the mirrors behind Dongju. It’s like a brandmark of sorts. One that Geonhak doesn’t think he could ever deserve to put there.

He swears that the others look at him differently after that, leave the two some more space just for each other. But maybe that too, is just his overeager, confused and horny imagination. Either way, Dongju doesn’t seem to mind spending time with him.

Ever since that day, random shirts keep disappearing from Geonhak’s luggage, only to appear on the younger a few hours later. They don’t talk about it – one of the few things they keep uncommunicated – and it feels like a desperately personal secret between them.

It’s just the same now, Geonhak already laying in bed and Dongju coming out of the bathroom, freshly showered. He’s wearing the other’s university shirt again, the one with his name on the back, and with only a small pair of shorts underneath, Geonhak nearly believes the illusion that Dongju is wearing nothing at all except for his shirt.

He feels his stomach pull tight, arousal sting in his veins and making him feel fiddlier than he should in the few moments before he’s going to sleep in the same bed as a very attractive man. Geonhak moves to allow Dongju to crawl past him onto the mattress and with his already suffocating presence, comes something else that makes Geonhak choke up.

Dongju smells different, not that Geonhak really kept track of it, but he might have brought one or two of the shirts Dongju stole from him, to his nose just to drown a little in it. He knows it from rehearsing too, some dance moves closer than others, their sex scene already practiced a few times with a lot of laughter and incredibly awkward touches. So, he kind of knows Dongju’s scent, and this isn’t it.

This deeper, slightly warmer smell is one Geonhak is very familiar with, because he lathers his own skin in it every day. Because he’s been using the same brand and the same fragrance for years.

Dongju has used _his_ shower gel and something about that makes Geonhak’s brain glitch.

He falls back into the pillows after Dongju, pats down the wall until he hits the light switch and darkness settles over them. He can feel the younger’s presence more than he ever did before, as if his body is warmer, burning into the fibres of the mattress and right into Geonhak.

The older doesn’t know where it comes from, but courage rushes through his blood and makes his fingers tingle. “You used my shower gel,” he says, softly into the night and turns so he is facing where he knows Dongju is curled around a spare pillow. He always sleeps with it clutched between his arms.

Geonhak can hear Dongju’s breath stutter and then feel the mattress dip as he turns around too. They must be close, oh so incredibly close, because he can feel peppermint breath huffed over his face. “Is that okay?” Dongju asks, not much more than a whisper.

“Is yours empty?” Geonhak’s voice is rough, deeper than usual because his brain is still showing him slow-motion shots of Dongju in his shirt, legs on full display, climbing over the bed. He’s hard. He’s hard laying right next to his co-worker, his friend. God, Geonhak will absolutely melt, he can already feel it start on the tips of his toes.

There’s more shuffling and Geonhak guesses it’s Dongju shaking his head. “I like the way you smell,” he says simply, as if that doesn’t imply about a million other things. Things that shouldn’t excite Geonhak and make his heart beat like he’s back in fourth grade and talking to his crush.

“Okay,” he says before gulping heavily. The sound feels harsh in the isolated darkness of the room. “You can use it. You can also use my clothes, I don’t mind.” It’s the first time he prods into the topic, almost feeling guilty speaking it out loud.

Dongju clambers for something – his hug-pillow Geonhak thinks – but then one of his arms wraps around the other’s middle, loosely, but still there. “Have you thought about the things that confused you?”, Dongju asks, and it takes a second for Geonhak to realize what he means. “What you told me on the first evening?”

This is really what it’s been coming down to, Geonhak thinks. All one-and-a-half months of them knowing each other, finding each other by chance. It feels scary, almost like there’s a deep ache in his chest, to speak up. “I’ve seen you in ‘ _Crowd_ ’,” he confesses, snapshots of France and the play that changed his life coming up behind his lids. “I think that I’ve been trying to sort things out since then.”

There’s no shocked gasp, no ‘ _why didn’t you tell me_ ’ or disappointed sigh, like Geonhak expected. Instead, the hand loosely dangling behind his back suddenly comes curling into his shirt, pulling the fabric tight. “And what have you found out? What is it that you want?” Dongju asks, and the words carry a definite weight to them.

“I think I want to kiss you,” is what Geonhak answers.

There’s a short silence and then an increase in nerves and breaths and heartbeats when he can physically feel Dongju coming closer. He can taste the cinnamon, woody warmth of his own shower gel, the peppermint of the toothpaste they share, before their lips even touch.

When they finally do, it’s with a soft, featherlight pressure, chaste and shy and everything unlike what Geonhak expected. Dongju is passionate with everything he does, with how he speaks and laughs and dances. But this? It’s careful, as if the younger is just as scared of it as Geonhak feels.

It ends just like that, before Geonhak even has time to memorize the feeling of Dongju’s lips, the excitement bubbling in his guts. They stay close, as if with every movement they could inevitably touch again, but they don’t. There’s distance between them. And darkness.

“Goodnight, Geonhak,” Dongju says before unclenching his hand and shuffling away.

The older doesn’t answer, every last bit of air stolen from his lungs.

-

The second half of preparations go by quicker than Geonhak can even try to process. He doesn’t have time to dwell on the kiss, to wonder if it will happen again, because in the blink of an eye the last rehearsal is done and they’re ushered out of the bar to get some rest for opening night the following evening.

It won’t happen in the same small theatre they practiced in, no, it will be in a much bigger venue, with a lot more seats, and after having seen the stage fully, after going through everything dressed up and with mics stuck to their foreheads, Geonhak feels like he should either throw up, or take his stuff and run away as quickly as he can.

Dongju seems to pick up on his nervousness and basically pushes him to sit down on the bed as soon as they’re in the Airbnb. Geonhak looks up at him in complete confusion but doesn’t get answers when Dongju just turns around and rummages through his luggage, coming back with a tub of ice gel.

He’s lent it to Geonhak before, when his legs were hurting so bad, he could barely stand up one morning and it really helped, but Geonhak doesn’t have aching muscles right now. Only aching nerves, so many annoying, scary, painful nerves that make him an anxious mess. He doubts ice gel can help with those.

“Pull your shirt off and lay down on your stomach,” Dongju instructs when he comes up next to the bed, sounding more like he’s ordering Geonhak, than like he’s giving him a choice.

So, because apparently he follows just about every order Dongju gives him, Geonhak does just that without even blinking an eye. “What are you going to do to me?” he asks before settling down on his front, turning so he can at least look at the other.

“I can see the nervousness exude from your body like fog,” Dongju explains, before promptly climbing onto the bed on his knees. “You’re wound-up and need to relax a bit, it won’t do you good to worry all night and not get any sleep. Tomorrow will be your first play in front of an actual audience, and you deserve to enjoy the experience, so I’ll help you out a bit.”

“Is this your elaborate plan to kill me and use me as a string-puppet tomorrow? I did not read about that in the job description.” Geonhak is trying to make it sound funny, but the absolutely frantic tone of his voice gives him away in a second.

Dongju swats his arm lightly. “I’m going to massage you, dumb puppy,” he says. “Is that okay?”

In a moment of silence, Geonhak tries to look past the confetti canons and party music going off in his head at the thought of Dongju’s hands on his body and see the actual intent behind it. To calm him down and relax his body. It’s really just a nice thing to offer a friend, but of course Geonhak’s mind is just completely in the gutter.

Geonhak is a weak man. “That’s very okay,” he says. “Please go to town.”

Fondly groaning, Dongju swings a leg over Geonhak’s and settles down over his middle, which the older certainly didn’t expect and pulls a surprised choke out of him. Dongju just grins – not that Geonhak can see that – and spreads ice gel over his hands, not bothering to warm it up before bringing them down on the other’s skin.

Geonhak nearly moans at the sudden coldness, barely catching himself by biting his tongue as Dongju presses his knuckles into his shoulders just right. It hurts when he pushes into the knots and tension in his muscles, when he kneads Geonhak’s skin like he’s just some kind of dough and not an actual person.

It hurts _good_ , and it’s effective, that by the time he has loosened up Geonhak’s whole back, down to right above the edge of his workout shorts, the other feels like he’s floating somewhere above them, his body more warmth and liquid than actual bone and skin.

He can barely feel Dongju sitting up slightly and poking at his sides, his eyes closed in blissful relaxation until a breath fans over his ear, hot skin pressing right against his own – and when the fuck did Dongju lose his shirt?

“Turn over so we can do the front,” Dongju hums, soft and fuzzy, just like Geonhak feels.

He’s too far gone to really think about it and just complies, because that’s what he _always_ does when Dongju asks something of him. Geonhak forgets that laying on his back, he will completely see the younger hover over him, that he’ll touch his shoulders and chest and-

Fuck, his chest. Geonhak has always been sensitive there, always felt embarrassed when one of his past girlfriends pointed it out and now it’s very possible that Dongju will touch him there and oh god. Maybe Geonhak should tell him. But what if Dongju would want to stop then? He kind of really doesn’t want him to stop.

So, he just turns around and settles down into a comfortable position, Dongju still straddling his hips and wow, Geonhak really didn’t think of this, because the younger is also shirtless and it’s a tiny bit too easy to imagine them in a very similar position, just doing something much worse.

“Are you okay, puppy?” Dongju asks, once more sensing Geonhak’s unease.

He quickly nods, trying not to stare too much at the expanse of Dongju’s torso, the pleasant softness over his stomach and the way his waist dips in right under his ribs. His eyes still linger, and when they finally reach Dongju’s, he knows he failed on his mission to be subtle.

Dongju is looking down at Geonhak, like he’s ready to devour him whole. His eyes are dark, hooded and those long lashes are throwing stringy shadows over his cheeks. He’s ethereal like this, barely concealed and only for Geonhak to see.

The older tells him that. “You’re beautiful,” he says, hiccupping on the last syllable because did he really just say that?

Thankfully, Dongju only smiles at him, not looking creeped out or like he wants to get away. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He squirts more cream into his hands and rubs it between his palms and fingers, before curling them around Geonhak’s shoulders, his thumbs pressing down right under his collar bones. It’s a different pain there, less muscles pulled tight and more hard knuckles against just as hard bones. It aches deeply and this time, Geonhak doesn’t hold his moans back.

With trembling fingers clutching the blanket, he tries to keep them in check somewhat, but he couldn’t possibly force them to stay inside, especially when Dongju runs his hands down the length of his chest, over his pecs and down to his abs, using his palms to force blunt, hot pressure on his skin.

He spreads his fingers when he runs them upwards again, this way catching more skin against his own, feeling muscle and bone, the ridges and valleys of Geonhak’s body. His fingertips run over his nipples, not particularly hard, rather just a passing touch, and Geonhak arches into the touch, sharply sucking air in between his teeth.

Dongju stills there until he calms down, until his breathing evens somewhat and his body melts back against the bed. He can feel his heartbeat like this, thudding heavy and hard, much like his own. Just to see what will happen, Dongju presses down the pads of his fingers over Geonhak’s nipples again, and the older all but _whimpers_.

“You’re sensitive here,” he says, as if it’s not the most obvious thing and Geonhak groans as he tries to hide his face in the pillow to his right, the one Dongju sleeps on. It smells like him and god, it’s really doing no good in this already precarious situation.

“Y-yeah, I’m sorry,” he breathes out, when Dongju doesn’t move for a few seconds.

Bending down, Dongju uses a finger to coax Geonhak’s face upwards, to look at him. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he says and can feel the other stiffen up underneath him. “I can try and avoid touching you there, if you’re uncomfortable.”

It feels almost pathetic, how quickly Geonhak shakes his head. “Please don’t,” he murmurs. “It feels very good, baby.” The air feels loaded between them, as if a single spark could ignite the whole room and make it explode with the power of a hundred suns. But then Dongju sits back up and it’s with that pressure, that Geonhak realizes just _how_ affected he is.

“You’re so gorgeous, Geonhak, you know that?”, Dongju says, ignoring the obvious hardness pressing against his ass, which he _must_ be able to feel. “You look like one of those Greek statues with your muscles,” he presses down then, just lightly with his fingertips, to hear another pretty whimper escape the other. “Imagine what the audience will see tomorrow when you’re above me. How big you’ll look compared to me.”

“B-baby-“

“I like when you call me that,” Dongju interrupts him, his voice much too calm for the situation, Geonhak thinks, especially when he doesn’t just press down, but instead uses two fingers on each side to apply pressure to his nipples. “And I like calling you puppy. You’re my puppy, right?”

“F-fuck, I’m your puppy, Dongju,” Geonhak’s voice is whiny, much higher than his usual deep timbre. “Your puppy…”

This time, Dongju interrupts him by actually _pulling_ , Geonhak’s nipples now a puffy pink, hurting in the way that makes his toes curl. He only ever did this himself but having someone else’s hands on him feels like a completely new sensation. And of course, Dongju drags it out until he has Geonhak nearly drooling over himself.

“You’re so cute,” he says then, before smoothing his palms over the stinging skin and then promptly climbing off of Geonhak, leaving him feeling soft and lose and suddenly very alone. “We better stop for the night and go to sleep.”

He’s right, of course he is. Because despite the _something_ that definitely slowly built up between them over the last few months it’s probably going a bit too far to throw all caution out of the window in one desperate night over something like Geonhak’s sensitive nipples. And yet, it hurts to sit up and smile and nod as if it’s nothing, to let Dongju go and get ready for the night and be left half naked and alone.

But it’s the right thing, even if it hurts.

-

The next morning is thankfully a lot less awkward than Geonhak had feared it would go, and they eat their breakfast as they usually do, talking about random things and trying to not make too much eye contact. Or at least that’s what Geonhak is doing.

He’s still nervous, which makes sense, but he feels a lot more calm than the evening before, and to his surprise he finds that Dongju doesn’t seem to be any less nervous, or stubbornly chill, like some part of him expected of the other.

No, Dongju is also drumming his fingers against his cup of tea and wiggling with his leg and the smile that breaks out on his face whenever they talk about the coming evening is a mixture of excited and absolutely panicked. It’s adorable and grounding in the best way for Geonhak.

The make their way to the theatre around noon, meeting up to chat with the others, snacking and stretching before even getting into the costumes. The air is filled with an excitement for the evening, hiked up with every minute the play comes closer.

It’s at the point where they’re getting into costumes and makeup, that voices get audible from the foyer of the theatre, even through the walls backstage. People are waiting for them. People are _waiting for them to come out on stage_. Geonhak feels slightly sick again and where usually Dongju is his steady rock in the current, he’s nowhere to be found.

As some sort of last resort, Geonhak decides that going to the bathroom and at least relieving himself of the disgusting itch in his throat will be better, than accidentally throwing up on stage. He walks over, the hallways all empty because everyone else is already busy, either getting fixed up for the stage or last-minute rehearsing parts of the choreographies.

He hopes to find the bathroom empty, but is disappointed to see one of the three doors to the stalls locked when he comes in. Trying to ignore it and just get done with the deed, he walks past it, making for the stall furthest away from the one already occupied, but a sound freezes him in place.

It’s a moan, choked but still the result of something passionate, arousing happening. And what’s the worst part, is that he can immediately hear which voice it’s coming from. The voice having haunted his every thought for the better part of the last three months.

Dongju.

Because fate is evil, of course he has to cross Dongju in such a situation, right before going on stage. Geonhak knows he should just leave, but that was just never something that worked between them. They talked about things, because they knew that is the only way things will work out for them, on- as well as offstage.

So, feeling like he swallowed a dozen rocks, Geonhak clears his throat and knocks against the door. “Dongju,” he begins. “Are you… are you okay?” He wants to ask something different, _are you getting off, are you getting fucked and someone else is in there and why isn’t it me?_ But at least this time his filter works enough for him to not blurt out something like that.

The younger man curses, clear as day, before also clearing his throat. “I’m nervous,” he says, as if that answers all of Geonhak’s questions. The other wants to speak up and tell him that he’s nervous too, but Dongju beats him to it. “I usually do this when I’m scared before a play.”

“You get yourself off when you’re nervous?” It comes out sceptic, but thinking about it, Geonhak actually doesn’t think it’s a bad idea. Certainly better than losing the contents of his stomach from pure nervousness.

The sound of a huff and a hollow thud, as if Dongju is dropping his head against the wall of the stall, echo through the room. “Geonhak,” he says, sounding weirdly serious. “Have you ever fingered yourself?”

“I- what?”, his usually deep voice rises about an octave from the sudden question. “I-I haven’t…”

“Okay… okay,” Dongju repeats for a few times. “Well fingering yourself is like… pushing your bodies limits. Because it’s not too natural to stick something in there, right, so every time you coax yourself open and loosen yourself up. It’s not necessarily hard work, but since your body has to accept it anew every time it… it’s a great distraction, you know?”

Geonhak tries not to run away with the thought of Dongju fingering himself. In the tiny shower of their Airbnb. On the bed of their Airbnb. In the backstage restroom of a theatre. He tries and fails horribly, having to bite down a groan. “Are you fingering yourself right now?” He asks, the answer obvious.

There are exactly five heartbeats of a pause in which Geonhak thinks he should just leave and let Dongju do whatever he needs to do. Then come words that complete throw around any and all limitations he had set for their relationship the evening before.

“Do you want to come in?”

Geonhak doesn’t answer in words, instead just moans and nearly stumbles when Dongju opens the door for him. His face is flushed prettily, still unmade hair sticking up and probably going to give the stylist some work to do. And one of his hands is disappearing behind him where he’s leaning against the wall.

Without Geonhak having to ask, Dongju turns around and presses his forehead to the wall, pushing his ass out to show the older where three of his fingers are pushed into himself. He’s not moving, just letting Geonhak look and react to this something that goes far beyond any of the rules they silently spoke into existence.

The older watches how Dongju’s rim stretches around his fingers, clenching as if searching out for more. It’s almost obscene to see it after not having seen any person naked in more than a year. Not having seen a man fully naked ever. Geonhak feels like his knees might give out.

Then Dongju makes it worse. “Touch me,” he says, pulling his fingers free with a clenching wet sound. “Fucking hell, puppy. _Touch me_.” Geonhak needs to lean against the opposite wall for support.

“I-I don’t know how-“ he stammers, getting interrupted by Dongju who all but _whines_.

“It’s not that hard, you’ll figure it out,” he says, sounding close to tears. “Just please, _please_ touch me, I’ve waited so long.”

The words come searing right into Geonhak’s chest, downwards until they flower in his stomach. Dongju waited too, just like he did. Dongju _wants_ this too, as much as he does. Geonhak surges forward, urged on by that thought, and presses the younger further against the wall.

His hands grab shoulders, waist, hips, one arm wrapping around Dongju’s middle as the other reaches between them, bringing his fingers to where Dongju wants them so desperately. Geonhak’s head falls into the space between the other’s shoulder blades as he presses a finger in, almost shyly.

Dongju is wet, Geonhak doesn’t know how, but he is _wet_ and makes it way too easy to just sink in fully in a smooth motion. Dongju moans satisfied, wriggling his ass back and Geonhak clenches his eyes shut, bites down on the fabric of Dongju’s shirt as he pushes a second finger in, because apparently that’s what Dongju’s body demands.

“Move, puppy, move,” the younger says wetly, as if he’s drooling all over his lips. “Move and tell me how it feels.”

Geonhak follows the request, as he always does and carefully pulls his fingers out of Dongju’s tight heat, not sure what will hurt and what won’t, before thrusting them in again. He repeats the motion, each time with more fervour, until Dongju is sagging against the wall, mewling and moaning with every movement of Geonhak’s fingers.

“You feel so… so tight. It’s warm and wet and I never felt anything like it before,” Geonhak begins to brabble when he remembers Dongju’s plea. “You sound so pretty too, so fucking pretty, baby…”

Choking on a sob, Dongju presses himself back harder against Geonhak. “You could fuck me now,” he moans. “ _Fuck_ , puppy, you could fuck me so easily right now.”

Groaning, Geonhak takes the fabric of Dongju’s shirt back between his teeth to try and silence his moans, thrusting his fingers a bit faster and trying different things like angling his wrist and pressing down until Dongju gasps for air.

“We have to perform on stage in less than an hour,” the older says after a bit, like a prayer to remind himself that they really can’t have sex in the nasty backstage restroom right now, despite how much his body screams at him to just do it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Dongju seems to want to protest, but a sudden noise of a fist banging against the door of the cubicle stops them. “It’s a shitty idea,” the person says, and it takes a few seconds for Geonhak to realize that it’s Youngjo. “You two are the leads in _my_ play and you better stop whatever you’re doing right now and get into costume or I’ll kick your asses.”

“ _Youngjooooo_ ,” Dongju whines, grabbing Geonhak’s wrist when he makes to pull out. “Just five more minutes.”

“No,” the writer says with a finality to his tone, that even Dongju doesn’t want to argue against. “You’re in a fucking _toilet_ , at least keep it in until you have a bed, you nasties.”

-

Being on stage in front of hundreds of people watching with bright eyes and interested minds is a lot more than Geonhak thought it would be. Surprisingly, he forgets all about it in the first minute on stage, when he gets into the routine they rehearsed for months.

It all just _flows_ , from one scene to the other, on stage dancing and interacting with Dongju who is so much better than Geonhak ever remembered him to be in _Crowd_ , where he already was excellent. And when they watch the other scenes from the side, it’s just as crazy and magical, to see it all come to live so vividly and be a part of it.

And then, like the big highlight of a quarter year build-up, the last act approaches and Dongju and Geonhak are on stage alone, in the spotlight, to start the scene that Geonhak dreaded so much in the beginning.

Later, months after the production is finished, he will still remember the headlines that followed the opening night. He’ll keep them saved in his bookmarks and stored away in a box underneath the bed he shares with Dongju in their new apartment. 

_Experimental, Queer and Raw:_ Sword and Serpent _convinces with authenticity and palpable emotions during the opening night._

The moment he’s stood in the heat of the spotlight, looking down at Dongju with all of the emotions that are supposed to be bubbling in Sword, that are bubbling in _Geonhak_ , it’s as if it’s just the two of them. Like no one exists in that moment except for them.

Geonhak stumbles forward, pushes Dongju until he steps onto the mattress behind them and he falls to his knees like they rehearsed it so many times. His head hangs low and his hands find the position of prayer and his lips form words against them.

“I give up,” is what Geonhak says first, and it always felt empty and awkward when he said it during practice, but with hundreds of eyes on him, sizzling nerves in his blood and the weight of the stage on his shoulders it’s nothing but the truth. Because this isn’t Sword talking in that moment, it’s Geonhak. “I surrender to you.”

There are exactly three beats of silence, then the weight of Dongju’s foot comes to rest on Geonhak’s head and presses him to the ground, just like they rehearsed. “It’s dependent to surrender,” he says and Geonhak hopes his breathing isn’t too audible over the mic. “I don’t want a servant, a weakling, some kind of prey. I want an equal. So stand with me equal.”

He lifts his foot and Geonhak looks up through a veil of tears he didn’t realize had fallen over his eyes. He pulls his hands apart and brings them to Dongju’s legs, clutching the fabric of the lose jeans all the actors are wearing, and he presses kisses to his shin, his knee, the centre of his thigh as he stands up.

None of that is in the script, but it’s what right in that moment, and Dongju also does something that isn’t in the script, he takes Geonhak’s hand and places it over his heart, on his sweaty, naked chest. Geonhak can feel his heart push up the thin skin, as if it’s trying to break free.

“We’re equal,” he says, and with that, all their scripted lines are finished, and they have to trust their bodies to fulfil the purpose.

With soft hands, Geonhak guides Dongju down on his back on the mattress and follows after him. They described it as _lion cubs playing around in the sun for the first time_ when they rehearsed, and that’s what they do. They smile and grab at each other and they roll around until Dongju is sitting atop of Geonhak, then back the other way until the other actors take the stage once more.

They will have to fill around fifteen minutes acting out the sex scene, while the other’s resolve their own pairings in the back. They won’t be alone on the stage, but they’ll still be in the centre, the focus, and that scared the living shit out of Geonhak when he imagined the evening over the last months.

But being there now, in between Dongju’s legs – which never fell open quite as voluntarily during practice as they did now – it feels like it doesn’t _matter_. Their lips meet and that’s not in the script, the director told them they wouldn’t have to really kiss, but now they’re doing it and it’s fucking amazing.

It’s different than that one time as well, because this time they’re both not overwhelmed by shock, they’re somewhat ready for it, hungry even and taking everything they can get with greedy lips. Geonhak hopes it’s not too terrible, but if the breathy moans huffed against his lips are anything to go by, he can’t be that bad.

They’re all up in each other, Dongju’s hands on Geonhak’s back, nails leaving red marks in their wake, and the other’s in Dongju’s hair, messing up whatever the poor stylist put in there. His teeth come down to bite on Dongju’s bottom lip and before he knows it, his tongue is colliding with the other’s in a wet, hot touch.

He’s hard. God he’s so incredibly hard and he’s pressing down roughly against Dongju and what’s the absolutely incredible thing about it, is that the younger is pressing back against him just as hard, making Geonhak moan at the friction between them.

_Son Dongju and newcomer Kim Geonhak surprise with incredible acting skills in this masterpiece about love and all the hardships that come with it._

With a gasp that comes when Dongju really licks into his mouth, the younger pulls back to catch his breath, a string of spit connecting their wet lips. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he says, digging his nails harsher into Geonhak’s skin and making him arch into the touch. Their foreheads connect and Geonhak has to close his eyes to keep from feeling dizzy. There’s heat all over him, inside him and he doesn’t know where to put it all.

“You’re so hot,” he speaks his mind, and it sounds a lot less ceremonial than he hoped it would. “I want to touch you all over, I want to feel you all over me. I want you to swallow me down and spit me out. I want to be yours.”

It’s a lot of wanting he’s doing, but this whole situation is so new to him, he doesn’t know what else to do other than _want_ and _need_. Dongju tilts his head, as if to pull away, but their mics get tangled up.

It’s a fumbly thing to try and pry them apart without ripping the tape off that holds them there and it makes them laugh, real and embarrassed and god it’s a _good_ thing. Geonhak feels the blush in his cheeks but for once he isn’t ashamed of it. 

“You’re mine,” Dongju says, when they manage to pull apart, and he’s looking at Geonhak with all of that unguarded admiration and want that punches all air out of the other’s lungs. “I’ll eat you alive and show you that you’re mine, puppy.”

Now, that’s out of character, because Sword is Sword and there are no pet names used in the little lines they have. But that’s also okay. It’s real.

_Improvise_ , Youngjo once told them for the script during the sex scene, that was left more or less completely blank. Geonhak supposes that whatever this is that they’re doing can count as improvising, and really, it’s not like he cares.

This is not a play anymore. It’s just Dongju. Touching him, kissing him. Doing the things that Geonhak’s body was itching to do for months. And he’s doing them all now, in the open space of the stage he’s bringing his lips to Dongju’s neck and kisses his way up, feels him tremble and move against him.

“I wanted to touch you for so long,” he whispers, as if the mic isn’t there to amplify every single thing he says. “I never wanted anyone as much as you. Your body makes me go crazy, your voice, your eyes, your mouth. Everything about you makes me lose my mind, baby.”

Dongju gasps and tightens his legs where they are resting around Geonhak’s middle, bringing their clothed middles together to elicit a wonderful duet of moans. “Wait until you truly have me, puppy. It will be nothing like you ever felt before.”

It’s with that, that Dongju pushes Geonhak off slightly, and reaches in between them enough to be able to reach his jeans. He cups the fabric for a second, moaning about _how big he feels_ , before popping the button open and pulling the zipper down with some difficulty.

Geonhak isn’t sure he realizes what’s happening until Dongju’s warm fingers wrap around his cock and make him hiss from the sudden contact. He ruts against the touch for a few seconds, before using a hand to push down his jeans just enough to get his cock out, without revealing anything else.

Dongju looks between them and his eyes darken even more at the sight of Geonhak’s cock. He licks his lips and moans like a porn star, all saccharine sweet and dangerously whiny. “I want you inside of me,” he says with a tremble in his voice, and who is Geonhak to deny him of that.

He always followed Dongju’s requests without a second thought, didn’t he?

_There are sex scenes, and then there are depictions of intimacy so realistic, it feels like being apart of it is a sin in and of itself. Son Dongju and Kim Geonhak show how it is done with pure perfection._

So, without ever having done it before, Geonhak kisses his way down Dongju’s chest and covers his obvious bulge with his mouth, loving how it feels under the fabric, rough against his skin. He pulls back then, to open the other’s pants with trembling fingers and ultimately manages it with the help of Dongju, who lifts his hips to push them down over his ass.

He sits up, grabs Geonhak’s face and kisses him in a way he’s never been kissed before. It’s passionate and deep, leaving him breathless when Dongju pulls back and turns around to lay on his stomach, ass propped up towards Geonhak.

The other gulps at the sight, where his fingers have been earlier, and he really wanted his cock to be. His hands come down to pull Dongju’s cheeks apart, gifting him with a surprised gasp. He looks so tight now, as if the thought alone of fucking him is impossible. But his rim flutters as if his body is begging Geonhak forward.

“F-fuck me,” Dongju says, and his voice is trembling and broken. “You just need some spit, it’ll be fine I promise, puppy.”

Geonhak’s eyes are wide, as if Dongju just asked him to steal the moon for him. He’s just supposed to go at it with some spit? Geonhak doesn’t know one thing about having sex with a man, but he doubts it can be that easy.

“It’s okay, puppy, trust me,” Dongju says, as if he can read his thoughts. He props his ass up some more, inviting him further. “I can relax fairly easy.”

And like he’s a bow strung too tight, Geonhak snaps with the words and lets himself surge forward, his back arching as he brings his mouth to Dongju’s skin. He licks a stripe over his lower back, just to get a taste of his skin, of sweat and his own shower gel. Of pure arousal.

Dongju has half a mind to ask what Geonhak is doing, before a tongue traces over his hole, almost too delicately, and the younger curses out a string of profanities. Geonhak is only spurred on by them and puts some more pressure behind the touch, licking broad, flat stripes over his rim, before pushing the very tip of his tongue against the resistance.

Like he promised, Dongju relaxes easily, and allows the intrusion with nothing but a desperate moan. Geonhak really isn’t sure what to do but prodding his tongue inside feels like the next best thing, and he loves the sounds it tears from Dongju’s throat, echoing through the theatre.

His mouth is messy with spit, just like the younger’s hole, shining obscenely under the stage lights. Dongju vaguely tasted like something artificial and Geonhak is keen on replacing that with nothing but the familiar taste of his spit.

Not much time at all passes like this – or maybe it does, Geonhak isn’t sure – but eventually Dongju’s fingers curl into his hair and pull him up almost painfully. “N-need you so bad,” he just pants out, and there’s nothing that could stop Geonhak from fulfilling Dongju’s wish.

He spits into his hand – because that’s what he usually does, so it can’t be all that wrong – and uses it to lube himself up some more, before bending down to press his body against Dongju’s. He kisses his cheek, behind his ear and on his nape, whispering sweet nothings and _thank you_ ’s to his baby.

His cock slides between Dongju’s cheeks almost too naturally, pushes up against his rim and slips right off again, not quite catching like it did when he used to sleep with his girlfriends. But even this nothingness of a touch is better than anything he ever had before, and Geonhak could easily lose himself in the feeling if it wasn’t for Dongju _begging_ him to push in.

“Fuck me already,” he says, bossy as ever. “I can’t wait any longer, puppy, you _have_ to fuck me, p-please…”

The sentence ends in a broken moan, when Geonhak pushes himself up somewhat to wrap a hand around himself to push against Dongju’s rim more effectively. He still slips up a few times, groaning from the on and off of pressure to his aching cock, but finally, _finally_ his tip slips into Dongju’s body.

It’s an incredible overdrive, tighter than anything Geonhak ever felt before, simultaneously softer and harder too. More pressure, more heat, more dragging friction on his erection. He pushes further, not even noticing Dongju’s pained noises, until the friction becomes too unbearable.

He pulls out again, under much complaining from the younger, and uses more spit, a _lot_ more on both his cock and Dongju’s hole. When he next pushes in it’s easier, the first few centimetres still opened up from before and this time the slide allows him to go further, against the tension in Dongju’s body until he’s forced to take it and adapt.

It’s like what Dongju said in the bathroom before the play, that with fingering himself, he pushes the limits of his body, until there’s nothing he can do but take it and feel it. It’s like that, just multiplied hundreds of times, when Geonhak sinks into him and forces his walls apart, filling him with searing heat painful centimetre for centimetre.

And Dongju loves it.

He moans filthy and loud, strings of _puppypuppypuppy_ and _pleasepleaseplease_ melting together into a garbled mess. It’s so much, so big, maybe even too much and too big, but the ache settling in his lower back already takes nothing from the blinding pleasure of it all.

When Geonhak is finally pushed in completely, his head falls forward against Dongju’s, just resting there as he tries to make sense of it all. The situation is truly ridiculous, but he’s doing what he desired for so long, something so much from the safety he herded all his life, it makes him delirious.

Add that to the tight heat clenching around him and it’s a cocktail designed to make him lose his mind, just like Dongju promised he would. As if on cue, the younger speaks up, moans something incomprehensible, before trying again.

“You can move, puppy,” he sighs wantonly. “I don’t think I’ll last long, so please, please move.”

Geonhak doesn’t know if he’ll last long either, certainly not with how he’s currently feeling. Still, as he usually does, he does what Dongju pleads for and pushes himself up on his arms to be able to look down, before slowly pulling out.

It’s an obscene sight to see his cock taken from Dongju’s body, glistening wet and dragging his pink rim with him. It’s even more obscene to push back in and see the muscles in Dongju’s back work as he’s forced to take it again. Oh, Geonhak will make him adapt over and over.

He starts with a rhythm that feels doable for his body that’s worn from being on stage for a few hours already, from working nonstop over the course of three months. In a way, it’s like a climax in more senses than just one that he’s inside of Dongju right now, thrusting with delicate yet calculated pushes that make choked moans ring through the room.

It’s the climax of months of hard work, of doubting himself and his choices, of wondering about his sudden feelings for a man, his changing desires. A climax for the first play he ever did, the first night of Sword and Serpent. A climax for Dongju and him, both physically and metaphorically.

It’s with a growl, that he picks up the pace and bends down, mouthing over the sweaty skin on Dongju’s shoulder, almost biting but not quite. “I want this,” he says there, voice deep and rough, disrupted by the slapping of skin against skin and the force of his thrusts in between words. “I want this over and over again.”

Dongju has his eyes screwed shut, a hand under his body to wrap around his cock. He’s choking on his spit with every movement, jolting up the mattress and he knows he will feel it for days. “You can have it,” he sobs, tears in his eyes from the intensity of everything that Geonhak is giving him. “You can have me for how often you want.”

It’s with that, that Geonhak bites down on his skin enough to _hurt_ , to leave bruises and bring blood to the surface, as he comes to a halt deep inside of Dongju and is hit by his orgasm, enough to make his eyesight turn white for a second.

Dongju’s body is jerking against his, and with a last, high whine, he seems to be coming too, into his fist and on the mattress. He’s clenching around Dongju, bringing him dangerously close to oversensitivity as he can feel his cum spread inside of Dongju.

Roaring applause lights up the theatre.

Geonhak’s mind is floating somewhere else, his brain too slow to catch up and when he’s basically pushed off by Dongju, he nearly complains, until he turns around and sees the curtain close. Dongju scrambles to pulls his jeans up and close them, helping Geonhak with his own, when he doesn’t seem to move.

On wobbly legs, the younger stands up and holds his hands out for Geonhak to take. It’s only then that it truly hits Geonhak what he just did. He fucked Dongju, he fucked a man, on stage in front of hundreds of people to see.

The other actors are running on stage, standing in a straight line at the front and sending them confused looks, which Geonhak guesses is something good, given their peculiar situation. At least they don’t seem disgusted.

He takes Dongju’s sticky hand and helps him walk to the front of the stage, an obvious limp in his walk. They stand in the middle of the line of actors and grab their hands as the curtain opens again to reveal another thundering applause.

Geonhak is glad that he can’t make out any faces in the crowd because of the spotlights, and he hopes no one will notice the absolute red quality to his skin. He looks over at Dongju, who is already looking right back at him.

His eyes are awake and oh so open, as they always are, and he’s smiling. Geonhak smiles back before looking forward again and bowing deep.

This is a good thing, he thinks to himself in that moment that leaves screams and claps to echo in his ears. It’s not the thing he ever expected himself to enjoy, to exist in, but it’s a very, _very_ good thing.

And with Dongju by his side – with his cum slowly dripping out of him – it’s everything Geonhak could ever need.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for being here! Please leave kudos and comments, they make my day. Tell me about your favourite parts, a little thing you liked, or even just keysmash, it will make my writer heart happy!!


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